


not knowing

by GreenPencil



Series: it's projecting onto the avengers time [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Depression, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Self-Harm, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, the author wrote this instead of sleeping, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenPencil/pseuds/GreenPencil
Summary: It’s in the way he feels like he needs it, like he is drowning and it is the air he needs to breathe. It’s in the way he can’t stop making himself bleed because if he does, what does he have left? It’s in the way it feels like his only constant because people come but people go and eventually he’ll go too.orpeter parker has a serious self-harm issue and i’m projecting because i’m just tired and need better coping mechanisms so i wrote about my bad ones**PLEASE READ TAGS**
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: it's projecting onto the avengers time [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728913
Comments: 17
Kudos: 128





	not knowing

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is pretty bad because i wrote it really fast but i kinda needed to write this because i'm drowning but lol anyway hope you enjoy and i'm basically just projecting all my sad onto peter but i also gave a hopeful ending because, y'know, i'd like to think i'll get better some day.
> 
> enjoy and please PLEASE heed the tags

Peter Parker knows how easy it is to pretend. It wasn’t at first. At first he knew it showed that he was drowning, sinking in a pool of misery and trying to give in. The attempt failed and yet he didn’t regret it, not what he would’ve left. But still, it failed and he exists.

He’s just better at pretending he’s happy. After all, it’s such a sad world. If he, Spider-Man, isn’t happy who will be? He’s supposed to be happy, it’s expected of him. Rambling and going on and on about Star Wars or whatever else is expected. It’s expected for him to be smart and be the ball of sunshine that lights up a room with his random quips about anything and everything.

It’s expected and so he goes along with it. He goes along with it even when he is hopeless and doesn’t feel like going into the lab because he doesn’t know if he can see Mr Stark and pretend it’s all fine. Even when the days blur together and he doesn’t know if he’s real. He doesn’t think about that too much, because if he does he’ll know that he’s not, he’s not,  _ he’s not _ , how could he be when everything that’s happened to him thus far only seems to cause misery, like a main character in some story?

He swings around Queens and picks up the broken pieces left by criminals, he lets his friends come to him and talk when they’re not feeling great and he tries to remind everyone he cares about in his life that they’re wonderful and he loves them and they shouldn’t ever change, because they shouldn’t. He should change.

He knows he should because his rambles annoy everyone and he feels so bad about himself it makes him want to scream or maybe just sleep and never wake up. That never works, though. He always wakes up and has to keep smiling because if he doesn’t, who will?

  
  
  


“Hi Mr Stark!” Peter calls, a grin on his face as he walks into the lab, clearly excited for today’s session in the way he radiates happiness and is practically bouncing on his feet.

Tony smiles, because the kid’s excitement is contagious and he always loves to hear about whatever the kid did that day, “Hey kiddo. Anything exciting happen today?”

Peter’s eyes brighten and he goes off into a spiel about science class and the project they’re making, something about match rockets? He talks rapid-fire for a good while before he has no more stories to tell and comes over instead, to sit by Tony and work on the webshooters and the new formula he’s working on.

Tony watches the kid and smiles fondly, holding on to the consistency and constant of Peter grinning no matter what. He turns back to his own work and lets the kid work in silence, like he always does. 

Tony doesn’t think anything of the contrast between his rambling and the working in silence. He doesn’t know he needs to because he doesn’t know how quickly Peter is falling.

  
  
  


It’s easy for him to stay up late now because he’s been doing it for so long. He doesn’t need sleep anyway, not when all it does is taunt him of better things and remind him of worse things. He pretends to be asleep when Aunt May comes in to check on him after his Spider-Man curfew they agreed on and then he just lays there until thoughts circle like vultures in a desert, watching him starve and succumb to the heat. He lays there until he needs to feel some control and not like everything is out of his hands, even if he knows it is. He lays there until he’s bolt upright and reaching for the Swiss Army Knife on his bedside table (razors are too obvious, knives are too obvious, everyone thinks cutting is just slitting up your wrist) and opens up the scissors. 

It’s easy to push down his pajama pants and pinch the skin together, small enough that he can cut bits of it off and force himself to bleed. He stops pretending, then, that everything is going fine and he’s happy because who’s around to call him out on his lies? Nobody notices the marks anyway and even when they do (locker rooms, training with the Avengers until it got worse and he started wearing pants instead), the scars aren't a line, so nobody knows what the marks are.

  
  
  


Peter tugs off his pants swiftly and pulls out his pair for gym, going to put them on. He’s faster than the other kids and he’s usually the first one out. He’s glad he’s swift. He doesn’t want to have to listen to the locker room chatter.

“Peter, what’s that on your leg?” There’s a voice, someone from the Decathlon Team he doesn’t know too well and he freezes. He meets his eye and then he’s moving, the pants on quick and he pulls off his shirt, tugs on another. He’s out in the gym before anyone else.

He doesn’t answer the question. He doesn’t need to. Nobody will do anything about it anyway and the other boy won’t think anything of his non-answer. 

He won’t be asked again and even if he will, it’ll go the same way.

Nobody does ask about it again. They don’t know they need to because they don’t know how quickly Peter is spiralling. 

  
  
  


Peter realizes he’s addicted to the cutting. It’s in the way his fingers itch to get to his pocket knife constantly. It’s in the way he aches to hurt when he knows he’s made a mistake and messed up. It’s in the way he feels like he needs it, like he is drowning and it is the air he needs to breathe. It’s in the way he can’t stop making himself bleed because if he does, what does he have left? It’s in the way it feels like his only constant because people come but people go and eventually he’ll go too. 

He wishes he’d go ahead and go. He doesn’t matter anyway. The only thing good about him is Spider-Man and anyway Spider-Man doesn’t do enough. Peter Parker doesn’t do enough. He is not enough and he will never be enough. 

More though, he wishes - and the realization hits him with a clarity startling enough he feels like he should physically recoil - that somebody would see him. Somebody would see through his facade. But for how terrible a liar he is, nobody seems to suspect anything.

  
  
  


Aunt May watches movies with Peter and then he gets to be quiet. He doesn’t fidget like he used to in movie theaters and whenever he’d sit still to watch a movie. May chalks it up to him growing up.

They eat together and Peter eats less than he used to but she attributes that to him growing and maybe it’s even the bite, keeping him from having to eat as much as he had to at first. That’s a thing spiders do, right? May doesn’t know. She doesn’t research anything about spiders and she doesn’t go to Tony to see the results of the tests Tony had conducted on Peter once May knew and had given her permission.

She doesn’t make sure he’s eating more. She doesn’t know she needs to because she doesn’t know how quickly Peter is sinking.

  
  
  


In the end, it’s the fact that Peter is staying with the Avengers and forgets to bring sleep pants. It’s not a big deal, he just wears his boxers and a sleep shirt. He’ll have a blanket on most of the time anyway, since it's movie night.

He goes out before most of the others. Except for Natasha. Natasha Romanoff is sitting there and oh, that’d be his luck, wouldn’t it? Because of course the spy is there. 

She hears him come in and turns to greet him, freezing when her eyes catch on the red dots splaying all over his upper leg, mixed with scabs. He freezes as her eyes narrow.

Her voice is cool, collected when she looks up to meet his gaze, “Peter. What are those?” He feels like he doesn’t need to answer. He doesn’t know how to answer anyway. 

Yet, he still stumbles over a flimsy lie, “Got them from patrol. Don’t worry about it, should be healed in a bit.” 

That’s the thing, too. They should be healed but he doesn’t eat enough for his healing factor and metabolism to work at its tip-top shape. Maybe if he did, he could’ve avoided this all. Recently though eating too much makes him nauseous, so he hasn’t been.

Look where that got him.

“I don’t believe you.”

His voice is a whisper and it almost hurts from how dry and tight his throat feels. Distantly, he hears more Avengers enter but they stay quiet. Maybe they’re shocked too. Maybe they’re wondering why the air is so tense between the two spiders who usually get along. He tells her the truth, “Scissors. I cut my skin with scissors, like, a lot, I guess. It’s not a big deal.”

He sees her close her eyes, hears inhales and then he’s being spun around to face Mr Stark. Mr Stark, whose eyes are wide with concern and disbelief. He opens his mouth and he’s sure sound comes out but he can’t hear anything.

He really must be drowning because everything sounds like it’s underwater. He feels disconnected, like he's floating. He’s pulled into a hug and his senses crash back into him.

There’s a familiar voice, comforting and yet aching with grief, “It’s gonna be okay Peter. We’re here for you.”

Somehow, he believes it might be. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to drop a comment or kudos if you enjoyed.
> 
> i'm really, really sorry if you're hurting like this too. you don't deserve it, even if you feel like you might. trust me. it's okay to not be happy all the time. you're allowed to feel. you matter so, so much.


End file.
